


A Matter of Taste

by flyingwyvern



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Equalist, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingwyvern/pseuds/flyingwyvern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bolin falls in with some Equalists. By accident, of course. Republic City is broken, and someone needs to fix it. Equalist AU, set before Korra arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Taste

Bolin knocks back another cup of sake and turns back to the smiling girl next to him. “So,” she says, laying a hand on his arm, “it must be so exciting, being a pro-bender! Do you have many fangirls?” She flutters her eyes when she says it. She is very pretty, Bolin thinks. Her dark hair is pinned up in an elaborate set of braids that wrap around her head, and her tunic is dyed a rich, deep green that matches her bronze skin. 

He laughs, playing the good-natured goof. “Oh, that’s more my brother’s lot,” he admits. “And we’re upstarts anyway. Do you watch the matches?”

She leans in closer, and he catches a whiff of scent. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “You might be upstarts, but you were fantastic last week against the Lion Vultures--”

He almost sags in relief. She is a fan, then. He can deal with that. Talking about pro-bending is much easier than flirting, anyway.

Bolin isn’t even sure why he’s here. Except, right, Mako has another girl over, and Bolin has nowhere to go. Not that he begrudges his brother the occasional night of celebration, but the idea of sleeping underneath the loft, listening to the sighs and thuds above him -- nope, no thank you, Bolin will be leaving now, right.

The girls is easy to talk to, and he’s finally recognizable enough that soon a few eager fans trickle in and buy him drinks. It’s a little weird, but Bolin accepts the offers graciously. He could get used to this. 

Two hours later, he has a nice buzz, and is eagerly recounting the latest match -- “and I didn’t know if Mako would be able to back me up, he’d taken a couple disks to the gut, but I went for the boomerang shot anyway…” It’s a quiet night, but the small crowd has their focus fixed on Bolin. He leans back gestures with his hands. “I shot it at him, all earnest, made it look like I’d missed…” He scans the faces in front of him, grinning, catches their wide-eyed attention. “And then, blammo!” He claps his hands together and pulls them back into his chest. “Got him, just like that!”

“What a waste of time,” a voice interjects, loudly. Bolin turns and sees a sullen, black-haired youth leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed across his chest. “A bunch of filthy benders using their talents to beat each other up.” The boy spits on the floor, meets Bolin’s eyes, then fixes his companions with a scornful glare. His eyes are dark as coal, and something stirs uneasily in Bolin’s belly. “And you fools all lap it up, like idiot puppies.”

Bolin’s new friends roar with outrage, and before he knows it they’re leaping through the bar to rush the dark-eyed boy. “Wait,” he yells, frantically, “it’s not worth it--damn it--”

Too late; a brawl has erupted, and the boy is spitting curses as Bolin’s defenders try to corner him. The bar’s rushers jump from their posts in the corners and move in, but not before the dark-eyed boy pulls a rod from his sleeve -- some kind of weapon Bolin hasn’t seen before. It crackles with electricity. 

Bolin swears. The rushers are too slow; someone is going to get seriously injured here. This was not how he wanted to spend his night out.

The boy stabs at one of the other brawlers, who backs away, howling and clutching his arm. The stick spins between the boy’s fingers, and he leans forward to strike another man. Bolin anticipates it, this time, and leaps into the gap. He tackles the boy and pins him to the ground, bending the floor into a shield around his arm just as the electric stick hits it. “Nice try,” Bolin pants. The boy growls and twists under him, kicking his shin.

Bolin curses and pulls away as another jolt of electricity hits his skin. By the Avatar, how many electric toys does this kid have?

They go back and forth for a while -- Bolin rolling to avoid various shocks, the boy spitting and kicking and jabbing, Bolin trying to bend him into shackles without destroying the building’s foundations. The bar’s rushers clear out the patrons who’d been on Bolin’s side. One of the rushers, a broad-shouldered waterbending woman, manages to soak the boy’s belt. There’s a crackle of electricity, and then a puff of smoke from the shorted circuits. 

Finally it’s over, and Bolin presses the boy’s face into the ground as the waterbending woman shackles his wrists together. “Piece of shit,” Bolin says roughly, tightening his grip in the boy’s hair. “What were you thinking, starting a fight like that?”

“Would’ve had my fun, if it wasn’t for you,” the boy pants. “Bending scum, bathing in hero worship--”

The waterbender stuffs a gag into the boy’s mouth and taps him on the forehead with a fist. The boy’s eyes flutter shut; Bolin marvels at her efficiency. “Quite a mouth on this one,” she observes.

“I’ve never seen someone get so worked up about pro-bending,” Bolin says.

The rusher shakes her head. “We see them, more often all of a sudden. They’re anti-bender in general. Pro-bending’s just part of it.”

Bolin shivers. He doesn’t like getting involved in politics; there’s a lot wrong with Republic City, sure, but it’s easiest if he keeps his head down, acts the goof, plays well with everyone -- Traids, cops, whoever. There’s nothing to be gained from sticking his neck, and firebrands like this kid scare him.

The bartender, a round-faced woman, wanders over. “Oh, him again,” she says distastefully. “I’ll send someone to get Pika.”

“Pika?” Bolin asks.

“His friend. She’s usually the one to bail him out.” The bartender sighs. “I would head out, if I were you.”

“I’ll stay,” Bolin offers. “If he wakes up again and causes trouble, I get first dibs on thwacking him.”

“If you fix the damage you did to my floor, then sure.”

Bolin nods, stares idly at the boy with his sweaty black hair and his now-dead electric sticks. 

Pika arrives a half-hour later. She looks about Bolin’s age, with dark skin and braided dark hair that look Water Tribe, but angular features and a narrow nose. A Fire-Water mix, then. Bolin wonders how that happened. She’s dressed practically, in plain cotton, but with style; he admires her high-laced boots. “Mei Xing,” she says, bowing as she walks into the bar. “I’m so sorry that Lao caused trouble again.”

“You know, as a bartender, it’s not my job to say this,” the woman--Mei Xing--says. “But your friend has a drinking problem.”

“And a brawling problem, apparently,” Bolin adds.

Pika’s eyes flick to Bolin. “Who are you?” she demands.

He shrugs. “The guy your friend here decided to pick a fight with.”

Her eyes narrow. “So you’re a bender.” 

Bolin shrugs again. “Yeah, earth. I think the bigger point is that this guy here decided to pick a fight with an entire room. What are those sticks of his? They’re kind of cool.”

Pika scowls and turns back to Mei Xing. “I’ll take him home. My apologies again. I’ll try to look after him better.”

“Lao needs to look after himself,” the woman replies.

Pika ignores that, and reaches down to haul Lao upright. Bolin wonders what their relationship is. They don’t look related, but the exasperation in her voice isn’t quite that of a lover, and her touch isn’t tender enough. “I can help you take him home, if you want,” Bolin offers.

Pika looks at him like it’s a trap. “Why?” she demands.

“Gosh, way to hurt my feelings!” Bolin complains. “I’m just trying to be a nice guy. Sheesh.” The girl just raises a skeptical eyebrow at him and taps her foot. “All right, fine, I’ll make you a deal. I help carry him home if you tell me about those electric sticks of his. They’re pretty cool. And I figured you could use a hand.”

Pika makes a face. “All right,” she says. “Fine.” 

Bolin grins and shoulders the boy’s weight, taking him from her. For all his bluster, he’s pretty light. “Great,” Bolin says. The Lao’s unconscious body is warm against his back, and he fights to keep a blush down. Why is he here?

Oh, right. Mako and his girl. 

And anything’s better, really, than going back alone to that. Besides, he’s sobering up, and another bar crawl would be expensive, and...And really, he’s just justifying things. Bolin settles on curiosity.

Yeah. He can handle that much.


End file.
